Cat box lessons
OK, the cat puke’s cleaned up, cat bowls cleaned, cats are fed, cat boxes emptied, towels changed, recycling is out, grocery shopping done, and there’s a moment to breathe & blog before mom & the kids show up for Saturday brunch. Carol’s teaching her Saturday morning yoga class, so I’m the chef. How do writers do it, spilling words in the interstices of life? It’s like breathing, another part of living. Weave it in. Draw from the shopping for the writing; draw from the writing for emptying the cat box. OK, that’s bullshit (kitty shit, actually), but it made a nice line. Still, honestly, the real work – things like my historical novel of Puget Sound, BONES BENEATH OUR FEET, or my new novel, or a new poem, do not respond well to constant interruption or the distractions of making a living or the drama of family crises. You have to carve out time; leave things that might otherwise be a priority; go into debt; sometimes even disengage (temporarily!). I wouldn’t want to live with a writer; kudos to Carol for tolerating me. But it can never be Writing versus Life. Writing is life distilled. It is so deeply informed even by the cat box, that we can’t help but improve our voice by embracing the mundane. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the everyday. OK – time to go crack eggs.